Purity
by Farts
Summary: With his brother already purified, Vilkas yearns to cure himself of his cursed beastblood with the help of his Harbinger and future husband. On their quest, Vilkas finally realizes something he's been denying for months. Tags; relationship: slash, character: farkas, vilkas, m!db race: bosmer kinks: hurt and comfort, flirting, fluff, angst


Farkas told him it was like waking from a horrible dream, like stepping out into the sunlight after being trapped in a dark cave for so long you forgot the smell of the pines and the taste of the open road. His larger brother surprised him when he'd left at the break of day with their Harbinger, going to set things right with his soul at Ysgramors tomb. To finally rid himself of the curse that had plagued them both for so many dark years. It surprised him that Farkas would have taken that initiative, and even more so that their Harbinger so eagerly accompanied him.

The very same Harbinger that came to him during his darkest times, who filled his fiery heart with lust and such confusion. The Bosmer with wild hair and a musical soul- one he'd never thought would reach the ranks he has in the Companions and in Vilkas' own heart as a friend. The wolf in him snarled wickedly with jealousy at the idea of the mer alone with his brother- that's when he knew it was time. The wolf had taken control of his emotions, made him wild and angry at everything it could. Kodlak had taught him this lifestyle wasn't right, they wouldn't make it to Sovngarde with Hircine's curse and he couldn't stand the idea of lashing out at his brother-his own flesh and blood- for the sake of the wolf's coveting eye.

It wasn't a surprise to Vilkas that he couldn't bring himself to ask the Harbinger for the same. Ever since that night he cried, came undone and fell asleep all in the mer's arms, it seemed damned impossible for him to think straight whenever the mer was around. He never took himself to be a shy man but he always found himself staring when he walked by, at a loss for words when they chatted over dinner. It was infuriating, embarrassing, everything he didn't want... and worst of all, the Bosmer knew of these feelings. It worried the Nord to think that he may have let this friendship grow too deep- but seeing him now exit Jorvasskr to rest under the Gildergreen, he knew he needed the Bosmer's help.

So he followed. Vilkas gulped and rised from his seat, glancing over at Farkas who seemed so comfortably free in his purity. He wanted the same, and Farkas kept alluding to his edgy brother to finally make the trip. He peeked out from the front doors, as if worried the mer would be right there waiting for him. But no, he saw the strapping elf with his back against the thick trunk of the blossoming tree, a quill in hand with the feather tickling at his lips while he pondered.

His heart was already pounding when the Bosmer looked up to him, that blasted smile on his face that was so contagious already showing. "Vilkas!" He put the scroll and quill aside, standing to greet him only for Vilkas to quickly ask him to stop, watching the lithe Nord sit down before him. "Are you here for a visit?" He joked, seeing a smile flash over Vilkas' stubbled lips before something changed- he suddenly got dark, and worried.

"Aye, I have." Well, here it goes, Vilkas. He didn't want to make this any more difficult for him with idle chatter. "But.. There is a very personal task ahead of me." The bosmer's smile faded, seeing him lean in. There was a tickle in the mer's mind and already he knew what Vilkas wanted- it was just a matter of time. "What troubles you?"

"It was..." Vilkas looked away, eyes scanning over the skyforge in the distance- he didn't like talking to him about Kodlak. "Kodlak's final teaching. I think he was right about the beastblood and Sovngarde. I wish to cleanse myself that I might know glory in the afterlife." The way he said that, the pain laden in Vilkas' voice made the bosmer's heart sting. He found it beautiful how Vilkas prized honor and glory the way the Nords of old did in the tales.

"The sleepless nights, the unwanted thoughts of the hunt, I fear that I may soon become more a beast than Nord. I saw how you helped my brother and I-"

"Of course I will help you cure yourself." The Bosmer whispered, leaning forward. "How could I resist a man in need?"

Vilkas flushed under the tree's shade, it brought the elf back to his far younger days and he couldn't help but laugh... Wooing shy, curious elves to the shade of the Valenwood canopy.

"then we leave tomorrow, as soon as the sun rises" Vilkas did a doubletake, his mind racing with the realization that this was really happening-and so soon! He could feel a pressure building up immediately behind his eyes, seeing the Bosmer take out his quill and jot something into a ragged book from his pouch.

"T-tomorrow? Very well, I'll see to it that the rest of the Companions will know of our excursion." He got a faint nod from the mer, Vilkas pushing himself to stand and seeing the artist smiling up to him with a tilted head. He was quite happy to realize that he'd be able to close another dark chapter in the knight's life.

But as they slept in their separate quarters that night, prepared for the morn, each had their nagging doubts. What if the beastblood was what drew the Mer so much to Vilkas? what if his fire extinguished in his soul and that exotic darkness inside him is gone? He wouldn't let those doubts get in the way of saving the poor man's life, but it would be a terrible shame..

And Vilkas fretted over his safety tomorrow, what if something went wrong? What if Ysgramor won't see him worthy? Vilkas didn't sleep a wink that night, eyes open and staring blankly as his thoughts drifted to the mer. Gods, he was a wreck right now. He could only hope tomorrow will leave them safe and for the better.

dawn broke. Paint was fresh on Vilkas' face and plumes of vapor puffed from each breath as the two climbed onto the saddles and rode north. Past sparse fields, past empty tundra dotted with nothing more than starving wolves and bandits alike.

Ysgramor's tomb was no short ride, but the day was young and there where no steeds swifter than the Companion's. Vilkas and his harbinger rode side by side, in uncomfortable silence with Vilkas' nervous mind refusing to calm. Hours went by with no more words than a few idle remarks, the Bosmer's sporadic jokes, an occasional response from the Nord. The stress was clear on his face and it only seemed to deepen the later it got. They rode past Dawnstar until with a curse the Bosmer looked up, scrunching his nose "Shit, looks like a snowstorm. We can't go very far in this, Vilkas. We're going to need to stop for the night in Winterhold."

Thank the gods, Vilkas thought. He spent the entire ride steeling himself for now, he didn't think he would have been ready given the time. When they rode in to Winterhold, the snow whited out all but the southern walls of the wasting city. Snow froze solid to the tips of the bosmer's dreads, dripping immediately as they stabled the horses and kicked their boots against the doorframe of The Frozen Hearth. Vilkas' nose crinkled when an odd stench passed his nostrils, making his head throb in discomfort.

"We'll stay here for the night, so why don't you make yourself comfortable?" It's been a while since he stayed at an inn, and even longer since he'd been treated to dinner. The elf bought him a stiff drink and the most expensive food- he almost felt too overwhelmed to even eat. "You really do not have to go through all this trouble, Harbinger. I'm happy enough for you just accompanying me."

"Nonsense, Vilkas." The Bosmer's genuine smile made the worried Nord lean back in his chair, relaxing his back. "I would go far beyond just dinner and drinks to ease your mind. Perhaps I can write you a sonnet? A massage?" He heard Vilkas scoff and roll his eyes, bringing the ale to his lips. He really was sexy without even trying, and the gentle teasing seemed to make the young man unwind.

"I mean it! Let's take off those boots, I'll rub your feet for you." He lent forward, hands reaching out to the Nord's sexy legs, only to see him tuck them under his own chair and something of a chuckle passed his lips. "Oh, come off it!" Vilkas laughed, pushing the mer's arms away "You just want a touch."

"I do" He chirped, enjoying the red at Vilkas' ears as firelight lit up his impressive jawline. "But I also want another drink.."

The Mer had water droplets trailing along the floor both when he left and returned with two frothing mugs of dark ale. "Here you are," Vilkas took it even if he was full and distending in his armor "This is quite a big night for you, but I don't want to bring up what's obvious." Oh please, Vilkas hoped he wasn't going to go so far into it.. he was just starting to gain an iota of comfort amidst the tension.

"But I say we should make a toast.." He hopes this will raise the mans spirits, seeing him reluctantly raise his mug "to your final night as one of the damned." Somehow hearing it that way made Vilkas' stomach tight. He didn't know what to say..

But the artist leaned in, his elven features striking and his smile alluringly playful. "Here's to hoping you keep that animal passion within you." His adams apple bobbed with a heavy pull of his ale, and Vilkas felt weak, and stammered "Ah...I- ah." The artist truly hopes he doesn't lose that part of him.

Whatever snide remark the Bosmer was expecting from the Nord didn't come, for the tall man merely took another swig and stood, eyes on their shared inn room. "I really don't think I should be drinking any more if we are serious about this. Let's just call it a night so I can try to prepare my soul again." He really didn't want any more weighing on his mind, he just wanted it over with.

Their room was small with one two-person bed, large cabinets and chests for the men while they silently undid their armor, cleaned their weapons of beast gore. They did so one at a time, the Bosmer seated on the bed to give the Nord enough space to remove his pauldrons, slip out of the cuisse and placard. The bosmer really didn't know what to say, seeing that Vilkas had forfeit their playful flirting to brood once again. The poor man..

Thoughts raced through Vilkas' mind until he was stripped down to his smalls, his hairy chest exposed and milky skin seemingly absorbing candle light. These nord men always covered their bodies, skin virgin to the touch of the sun. With a nod the younger man sat on their shared bed, nervously eyeing the Bosmer and his bronze skin, the tattoos burned into his body in what books had described as a barbarian jungle ritual. But even sights like this could not break his mind away from the pressure of what awaited them the moment the snow settled..

"Can I turn out the light?" His voice shook him from thought, the bosmer noticed he was staring at his legs but he looked far from happy- or even a bit intrigued. Honestly he couldn't be dejected, there was a lot weighing on Vilkas' mind- he wont flirt anymore. Not tonight.

"Yes, go on." there was almost no light but the shine of the snow against the moon now. Vilkas laid down on his side, facing the wall and his legs under the furs. The bedframe creaked as the body of the other man settled into it, a short but tangible distance between them both. The mer groaned, wriggled and laid flat, Vilkas could tell he was facing away.

"Goodnight, Vilkas."

"Mmm.."

It happened. He could feel the wolf inside scratching to get out, his mind struggling to push down the doubt and the shame- the worry that Kodlak's spirit would haunt him. He stayed awake for long moments, feeling uncomfortable and alone while the other man slept. But he wasn't sleeping. Vilkas heaved a big sigh and the Bosmer's eyes opened, knowing the turmoil that must be in his muses' heart.

His body turned in the bed, seeing Vilkas' back silhouetted in blue. He watched the man's breathing, can taste his fear no matter how well he hid it.

"Everything's going to be alright, Vilkas." He whispers. The nord's heart skipped a beat, his throat randomly tight. He turned slowly to face the bosmer, looking him in the eyes. Such compassion, it was a simple remark but it was all the reassurance he's been aching for.

"With you by my side, nothing could go wrong."

Neither wished for that distance between them, suffering in quiet silence wishing they could kiss the other, but it doesn't happen.

Vilkas doesn't sleep a wink that night, choosing instead to watch as the mer's black eyes flutter shut when he just couldn't stay awake any longer. Vilkas didn't tear away, thoughts floundering between dedication and faith, family and love. He wished he could cling to the other man tonight like a diamond faceted to a ring.

When those mer eyes opened again, sunlight was beaming into their room, and Vilkas was halfway done with putting his armor on. The Nord turns to him, his jaw set and dedication in his eyes. With a nod, they know today will be the day.

"Let's go."

It was cold and eerily silent on the steep descent to the dead sea. The bosmer had never been this far north, feeling bitter wind literally chill his bones and very soul like the dead. "By the nine, this cold is pure torture!" he admitted loudly, startling the Nord who looked like he'd been up to his ears in heavy thoughts. No response- and no more words shared between them until with a push and leap, they where on a canoe to the island.

Vilkas sat with his legs astride, fingers interlocked at his chin. He remained utterly silent, imagining his brother taking this very trip not weeks ago- he will be brave. The bitter wind rocked their boat, the water glossy and frothed with ice and foam "I see it, just up ahead. If no one has made a little visit to the tomb, then the door should have been left open.. saves us the entire trip down." Vilkas didn't look at him, merely nodding and steeling himself for the landing as their boat crunched snow on the banks.

"This is it, then." The Nord finally said, staring at the staircase, easing his way past each icy step to stare at the ancient gateway. It looks bigger than he remembers it.. "My soul is ready." He admits after a huge sigh, hands on the door.

"I am by your side."

The air inside smelled just as awful as he could remember it- Vilkas preferred reading of ancient tombs rather than violating their sanctity. He felt shame when they approached the statue of Ysgramor, his mighty Wuuthrad that the Bosmer wielded was still perched in his stony hands. To think, he was going to descend to the depths and approach his very coffin. He gulped, and the mer silently guided him the right way.

Down spiraling steps that creaked with age. His hands shook.

Through a tunnel dark as night. His head hurt.

And out to the massive chamber that was Ysgramor's tomb and the resting place of all the Harbingers afterwards..except Kodlak. "Divines.." He breathlessly said, eyes up at the vaulted ceilings, the countless rows of stone coffins holding glorious warriors of old.

None awoke to their spying. Vilkas' mind hurt as he approached the blue flame, enchanted by it's penetrating glow. It was now or never- the less time he spent worrying the easier this will be. "I'm ready. Give me the witches head"

He looked in the sunken eyes of the leathery head, unspoiled by dark magic. It's mouth hung open and stench wafted through, making him feel nauseous.

"Kodlak is watching. The Harbingers of old are watching. This is what they wanted for you."

His heart is tense, but he is strong. Vilkas tosses the head into the fire, watching smoke curl and sputter from it's blazing core. His other hand already reaching for his sword but it misses the pommel, his fingers seemingly fluttering off and into the air behind him. Suddenly, he couldn't feel them.

There is a heartstopping pause. Vilkas was suddenly staring at the artist with a look of complete cluelessness- gazing at him with wide eyes as if he was completely gone from this world. Suddenly Vilkas is completely gone from this world, stumbling forward on his feet with his arms reaching out for purchase. The changing Nord sees the elf before him, watches him and his lips are moving but there is no sound- He didn't know who that mer was.

Suddenly Vilkas stumbles back, lights fading in and out, darkness and shifting shapes falling into infinite loops- "Are you okay?" the mer asks, seeing as if the tall man was hit by a blast of wind as he stumbles further and further back, unable to stand up.

Vilkas must have heard him- because all the man could do was let out a panicked, haunting moan as the feeling of his soul tearing in half began. Vilkas' visions the repeating lights and the echoing sounds...suddenly they began to make a dream. Running wolves, panting breath, the sound of paws on the grass and beams of moonlight shining through trees as he sprinted towards them.

He was hunting something, he was chasing it down and he didn't know what it is, but the closer he ran towards that light, the harder it was to reach it. Vilkas gasped hard for breath, his cheeks red, and suddenly he was flat on his back, looking around wildly and thrashing. The tether between his soul was being torn apart, the Bosmer suddenly at arms and slicing away at a wolf's haunting spirit.

Vilkas' wolf was far more vicious and aggressive than Farkas' spirit, lashing out at the bosmer with teeth exposed and foam at it's mouth. Each hit the axe landed on it's ethereal body the harder it screamed, the louder it whimpered. It's lunges took the elf back and away from the prone man on the floor, swiping and snapping in betrayal. It wasn't vilkas' own soul alone that had fallen for him, after all.

When it died, the Bosmer sprinted across the hall and to Vilkas' side, hearing the man's disconnected cry when the spirit finally left him. He saw the young man moving to get on his hands and knees, gasping for air and his head hanging limply.

The grave hall was slowly falling back into place inside Vilkas' sight, empty black spaces and abstract darkness simmering out into the cold dark blue of reality. His pinpointed eyes lokoed around wildly as life came rushing back into his empty spaces.

He didn't notice he was being cradled in the arms of someone until he could feel their warmth at the back of his neck. Things began to make sense, he remembered his own name now- why he was here, where he came from. There was something echoing, someone's deep voice- he could place an emotion to it now. Concern. It wasn't Hircine's disappointed echoes. It felt like ages but only a few moments went by before he recognized the face so close to his. Vilkas wasn't suffering to gasp for air, it came clean and untainted by the reek of death. He was trembling in the bosmer's grip, staring up in wonder as he sees the elven eyes in an entirely new way. Now he could understand them.

"Aah... Is it over?" Was the first thing he could think of to say, his voice sounding unusual to his own ears. His Harbinger's eyes softened, asking "are you okay?"

Even though he already knew he would be.

Everything was shaded a new color. The air tasted cleaner, his mind unconstricted from the pressure of the two spirits making home in one man. His skin feels more comfortable to be in, not tight and aching so much so he forgot what it felt like to be at ease.

"Ehh.. It's like waking up out of a dream.. I can breathe more deeply now. I can't smell your heart beating the way I used to." Oh, the way he said that made the bosmer so nervous. Vilkas remained shocked as he recuperated, his eyes focusing on things that he now could see, feel the way his body always should have.

Vilkas surprisingly can't find it in himself to say anything to the Bosmer that held him until he sat up on his own, too awestruck and scrounging for a thanks that could be equal to what his Harbinger has done for him. Looking at him now suddenly was all too overwelming and he suddenly feels the need to be alone, too surrounded by these new feelings and riding on pure adrenaline.

"I wont soon forget what you've done for me." The bosmer held up a hand, letting Vilkas know he didn't need to hear the thanks. He already knew. "Now...I'd like to spend some time communing with Ysgramor. My soul is clean..."

"Perhaps he'll still welcome me when my time comes." It made the poet's heart wrench at the intensity of his words, he was so soulful. Passionate. There was nothing missing from him and it made the Bosmer smile.

But he knew better, Vilkas could have his alone time but he couldn't make it home alone.  
He went upstairs and waited before Ysgramor's statue. It was snowing again outside, he'd use it as an excuse for waiting.

Blue lights lit up the darkest corners of the dead hall while Vilkas felt free to discover it. There was a somber air as bleak as the history it drenched itself in, and the Nord meandered towards the caged coffin- He wouldn't get close. Alone, he wouldn't stand a chance to survive a spring-trap dedicated to protecting Ysgramor's mighty bones. But he sat in the chamber halfway between the Arcane flame and the final resting place of his banished spirit.

And he prayed. For Kodlak's victory in Sovngarde, for forgiveness to clinging to something so corrupt. He prayed for his brother's safety, his own, the glory of the Companions and good fortune. The only thing he could hear was the pounding of his heart in his chest, the sound of air rushing through his nose.

Opening his eyes was harder than he could imagine, feeling a creaking in his bones as he stood until he honestly felt ill. Exhaustion was something he didn't notice until now, making his eyes blurry and his legs buckle- by the gods, it was so foreign to him. There was no way he could even think of making it back up to Winterhold in this condition, the adrenaline long gone and the demands of his body growing too great.

With a great sigh, he slung his sword across his narrow back and descended the stone steps towards the spiral staircase. He didn't want to sleep here, the ghosts of his past would prove too melancholic. By Ysmir, this was a day to remember. Each step he took up the stairwell claimed more of his energy until he could see the light of Ysgramor's statue room.

He was shocked right back awake by the sight of his Harbinger sitting at a stone bench, cleaning his blades. Why didn't he leave?! Vilkas' heart distressed in his chest at the sight of him standing, seeing the elf's warm smile.

"I didn't want you faring this storm alone. You look so exhausted." and Vilkas was.

"I'm fine." So there was a storm outside? Packed, they heaved open the stone doors, Vilkas' pale eyes immediately snowblinded and the bitter ocean cold making his now-sensitive body suddenly feel weak. Vilkas refused to let the exhaustion claim him in the presence of the mer who time and time again feel weak. So he toughs out the ride through blustery winds and choppy waters, Barely able to keep his head up. A dragon right about now would have been the worst possible thing.

The skies settled by the time they touched land again. The Bosmer kept his watchful eyes on his young muse as they began the steep incline hike up the cliffside back towards Winterhold. "If we need to stop you need to tell me immediately, Vilkas." The slender Nord's knees began to wobble, exhaustion clear on his panting breath all the while insisting that he was "fine" and that they'd "Be at Winterhold within a half hour". It was nonsense. The Bosmer refused to let up until he grabbed the Nord's larger hand in his own, tugging him up the path until the vicious updraft of sea wind vanished and they where on flat land once again.

Things just seemed to stop being so critical for Vilkas once he caught sight of the town just down the snowy road. "Just get me to the horse" He'd promised they'd make it back "I can't stay another night here, I just want to get home." The Artist yanked the tired man to the Inn, Vilkas watching in confusion as he was left alone by the fire with a hooded Altmer while the wood elf jogged out the door.

And there he sat, confused and shivering. The barmaid offered him drink and another night in their room, Vilkas declining and choosing to cross his arms over his chest and watch the fire as his vision faded in and out of focus. The barmaid watched from afar as the companion's head nodded up and down, his eyes fluttering almost like a pup struggling to stay awake.

All three lept in surprise at the door blowing open, the Bosmer's strong arms holding up rolls of pelts and blankets. "Sorry for the wait, but I needed to buy some things from Birna's"

"Why in the world did you buy so many pelts?" Vilkas exclaimed as he rubbed his painted eye, seeing the bulk in the mer's arms nearly covering his face. It actually brought a smile to his face to see the wind knock him off balance and have a soft bear pelt drop at Vilkas' feet. He pulled it up into a bundle in his arms, his jaw dropping.

"It's going to be a very nasty ride home on that carriage. Now come, you wanted to get home quickly now we can't keep the poor man waiting."

"...you bought a carriage too.." Vilkas deadpanned.

"I did! Aren't you glad? Treatment fit for a prince." The bosmer was laughing and his damnable canines glinted in the piercing white of the day. This time there was no intimidation- Just pure and honest attraction. And the mer kept treating him like a prince even as he was helped up on the carriage, their bags stowed and horses roped to the side.

They where already off, rickety wheels crushing against snowy gravel and Vilkas' eyes on the pile of blankets at his side. The Bosmer pulled a hood over his head, watching how he tucked his soaked locks inside it and bundled a red cloth around his neck. Weakness began to claim him, his shoulders trembling from the cold whipping at his lanky limbs.

The bosmer laid a pelt on the floor of the carriage, between his spread legs. He was fussing with the others before with a simple "Come here, and sit" he beckoned the Nord to sit before him. As he did, brown blankets came lovingly around his shoulders, tucked behind his back and all around until the Nord was undeniably blushing. He looked up at the Bosmer and rested the back of his head against the mer's leg, idly watching the snow cling to the elf's unruly stubble.

Even in this land of bitter cold, Vilkas felt absolutely warm. He was a bundle of exhausted Nord with only part of his face exposed to the chill, a pair of blue eyes staring up until they fluttered and stayed shut. The artist smiled when it was clear he was down and out.

"Sleep well, Katlé ma" He lent down and placed a warm kiss to his forehead, hugging loosely around the Nord's bundled shoulders and choosing to rest his eyes as well. Their crabby old driver took a peek back, doubletaking before the bosmer's ear turned to a muttered "No lollygaggin' in my carriage, got it?" He chose to keep quiet.. and hug onto the man a little tighter.

Exhausted Vilkas slept the entire way home, not stirring from his slumber even once and thankfully, the ride was utterly peaceful. The morning sun hit it's highest point by the time they arrived into Whiterun province. Layers of soaked blankets where peeled from the sleeping man, but no rackety wheels or horses' whinny could wake him.

Whiterun's guards greet their thane honorably as the carriage passed by, Khajiit hailed their friend and the gates where ready to open at his beck and call.

When Vilkas' eyes opened again, he was being carried by someone.. He looked directly ahead and saw the Bosmer with a big smile on his face, waving up at him. There was black hair tickling his cheek and they where climbing some kind of stairway- he remembers now. The Gildergreen was before him and he wrapped his arms around the body who carried him, knowing now it was his dearest Farkas.

Jorrvaskr was warm. Vilkas' legs dangled limply in his brother's grip until he was let down to stand on his own, standing inches shorter than his twin. They where in the middle of a conversation, the Bosmer throwing their supplies off his back to be dealt with later. His brother suddenly wrenches his burly arms around him and crushes him with joy, Vilkas letting out a gutteral yelp of surprise until his arms come around his brother hand hug him..it feels like the first time in forever he'd done that.

He may have been in a zombie-like state from sheer exhaustion, but Vilkas still was able to feel something piercing the joyful return. He looked behind him, seeing Aela's cold glare from across the mead hall. It was enough for Vilkas to know that she felt betrayed- he's going to have to remember to steer clear of her for a while.

A hot bath was being prepared for the returned man, and in the midst of all of his brother's affections, his Harbinger had vanished. How long was he gone for? Vilkas felt as if he was taken away from the mer..he didn't want him to be gone so soon. His trials of purity where complete and the wonderful, wonderful elf had guided him every step of the way with nothing but the best intentions. Vilkas grabbed the pail that floated in his stone bath and poured hot water over his head, sputtering and running soap through his hair. The warmth felt undeniably amazing, his aches and pains relaxing into a pleasant numbness.

But his heart was still pining. Maybe a purified soul and a long rest was what finally jogged the thought into his mind. It was so hard to deny it now, he was clear to think. He honestly loved the Bosmer, adored him even. He'd taken into account every little thing the Bosmer could have honestly did to attract him and did so with flying colors. He was kind, his heart was filled with good intentions. He courted the fiery man with love songs, written him poetry, saved his life and left him breathless more times than he can count.

Vilkas' face turned so red, and not from the steaming water.

He hardly concentrated on Farkas' blatherings, His brother seated in the bathing chamber across from him, ready to attend his cured brother- or maybe just to see this really did happen. He noticed the tiny smile on Vilkas' otherwise always sneering face, his eyes cast down into the soaped water.

"Hey are you listening to me?" His gruff voice finally noticed.

"I asked if you where going to sit in there until the water goes cold!" Vilkas was stumbling out of the lukewarm water, wrapped up in fresh linen clothing. He could actually feel the coolness of the stone on his bare feet, the callouses on his brother's hands while he pushed him out of the chamber and towards his room. It looked as if everything was already prepared for him, his bed laid out with freshly cleaned furs and it just looked so damned inviting where otherwise he spent the past years of his life hating it.

His knees hit the bed and then hands, rolling himself unceremoniously onto his back before seeing his colossal brother follow suit, the wood creaking under their weights. He was happy to see he'd have company, quite suddenly not yearning to be alone like he had for pretty much his entire life. But he wanted the Harbinger, too. He wanted to hold him, let him know somehow just what his actions had done for Vilkas' troubled heart.

A crushing hug came, but only from his brother. "Hnngh!" He cried out, the twins collapsing on their sides and Farkas let out a grumble of a laugh. Farkas had been dying for this day, his own eyes open to anticipate all the good changes he's going to see for his 'little' brother. It was so painful not to be able to connect with the only family he has left because of their curse.

"Aaaalright, alright," Vilkas winced, patting his back and sputtering for air "I'm glad to see you're well, too."

They sat, and reconnected for the first time in gods know how long.

All the while, The artist had seemingly vanished. Perhaps he needed to collect his thoughts after he went his separate ways to empty his cache, but he didn't want to encroach on Farkas' time. He truly knows the importance of family over friendship, he'd been there before. It was well over 100 years ago, but he knew. But his mind couldn't tear away from Vilkas... he was the Dragonborn and there was seemingly endless tasks for him to take care of, but his muse remained strong in his thoughts seemingly all the time. Poets' hearts where not cut out for this constant stress, not when the mer's entire life was spent wandering without purpose, finding it in drugs, music, wine and language.

Could he possibly have enough room in his life for falling in love? Romances in the past always fell short, the emptiness never quite filled. The dreaded Bosmer always found himself a runaway lover- chasing a new muse when the last fell apart.

But he needed to change. The gods have finally chose to guide him to his destiny, and he couldn't possibly go it alone- he's made friends in every city, but Vilkas remained special to him. He wanted to make sure that never changes, and he'd fight through oblivion if it meant he could keep the Nord. As a friend, a lover, anything.

He needed to go back and see him.

Eyes of his warrior family met his as he reentered their hall, their Harbinger was dressed comfortably in the evening chill. He didn't want to prolong this any more, before he'd risk waking Vilkas from his most desired sleep. Underneath Jorrvaskr the halls where warmly lit, soft noises coming from just down the way. He could hear Farkas' gravelly laughter- good, that means Vilkas wasn't asleep yet. His heart was already pounding when he turned the corner and he saw that the door to his muses' room was wide open.

Farkas was the first to notice him, hearing a faint gasp in the middle of Vilkas' chat, their conversation coming to a grinding halt.

It was the first time the Artist has ever seen Vilkas without that provocative black paint around his eyes, his hair wet and combed back. He felt a quick pain in his heart seeing the naked skin of his face, the paint had always hid those dark bags under his eyes from years without peaceful sleep. But Vilkas was looking back at him, he was smiling, and those tired eyes where rimmed with the darkest and thickest lashes he'd ever seen. And how white they remained was nothing short of divine.

"Harbinger.." Vilkas spoke up, looking at his twin and then back at the mer who changed his life. He wasn't prepared for this but oh did he yearn to see him once again.

"Farkas, could you excuse us? I wish to express my gratitude." And like that Farkas stumbled his way out of the bed, smiling broadly at the two before closing the door behind them, the Mer watching him leave. Farkas knew what was going on, that was obvious now. He never saw Vilkas smile that way for anyone else.

The Bosmer's dreads hung freely over his shoulders, his posture warm and inviting. Vilkas' uninhibited mind still had just enough steam to find and cling to that bashful feeling that fluttered around in his chest when he thought of the mer as his savior. He must have been staring, for his Harbinger cleared his throat and allowed himself a seat next to the man on the bed. He spoke up, his voice peaceful "You don't have to thank me, Vilkas. Helping you and your brother meant quite a lot to me." He saw that pair of unpainted eyes look down and away, as if scrambling for words in such a tired state. It made him smile as to what he could be thinking "How are you feeling?"

"Better than I have in years, My mind was so haunted, but now I feel so.." He yawned, his voice stretched "So peacefully clear... It's everything I could have hoped for and more. How could I possibly not thank you for what you've done for my soul?" Vilkas could spend the rest of his life indebted to him, and he'd be happy to do it had it meant he could be near the artist for the rest of his wolf-less days. Oh, if only.

"Mmm. Very well, you're welcome." Vilkas watched his tan hand extend that small space between them, fingertips gliding over his own pale skin until it rested atop his hand, a doting smile on his face. The Nord felt shivers in his spine. "The only thing left for you to do is to rest. You've got a new life to look forward to once you've gotten some sleep."

They said nothing for a painful moment, Vilkas unable to take the warm black eyes on his flushed face. His brow furrowed and he knew the bosmer was going to leave him, he didn't want that. The young nord gulped, taking the mer's wrist into his hand and tugging him just that alluding little bit.. Don't leave yet. He doesn't know what he wants, but the Bosmer had it.

"..." Their eyes met, and the artist knew what to do.. The second he saw the man he knew it would come to this. He eased into the Nord's space and crushed his lips into Vilkas', the young man's breath fluttering along with his eyes. To feel this way, unhindered by an angry wolf spirit, skin against his own, was just utter satisfaction. When the Bosmer pulled away, Vilkas made chase to his kiss. This is exactly what he needed, something real and comforting to let the other know just what this friendship really was. Vilkas blindly reached out, touching and holding the elf's warm hands in his own, palms running up to feel his solid arms, the brush of dark hair. The faintest touch of a wet tongue to his lips and the Nord shivered out a moan, sighing when it was gone. And just as quickly as it started it ended, the Bosmer taking his warmth away and separating them both.

His harbinger had, with one kiss, sealed the fate of Vilkas' heart. The young man was breathless and at a loss for words, seeing the smiling mer stand. He didn't want him to leave, but he could always wait. "Sleep, Vilkas. I'll be here for you when you wake." the Nord's kiss still clung to his lips as he bid the man goodnight. It was only until he saw the mer's shadow vanish from the hall did he realize he had held his breath.

Vilkas fell back, breathing easy. By the gods, he should be feeling such turmoil..but the wolf is gone. There was so much less of that crippling uncertainty, it was soothingly sweet. His eyes couldn't keep from closing and the smile couldn't be wiped from his face until he was slack, free to rest for the first time in years.

Walking up and out, the musician was in a lovely daze. Beautiful music spun around his head, notes falling into place on paper before he could even reach for a lute or violin to play. The taste of Vilkas on his tongue went down smoother than fine wine, his hands felt like the touch of-

"Hey." the Bosmer lept a foot in the air at the hulking shadow of Farkas coming at him from the side, his elven eyes wide. "Did I scare you?"

"No, no I've just had other things on my mind." His heart was still pounding hard.

"I can't thank you enough for what you've done for my brother... You know, you mean a whole lot to him. I can see it in the way he looks at you."

"Ah, yes.." The artist grinned, looking at the fire ahead "You told me that once, now I believe it."

"Treat him well, alright? He's been through a lot."

It was as if Farkas thought they where already dating, it made the mer laugh inside. But he was turned around -firmly but brotherly- by the Nord's massive arm. "You promise? Vilkas is my brother, he's everything to me."

"I swear it, on my honor as a man and as your Harbinger." The bosmer closed his eyes and held his hand up, a playful gesture but Farkas smiled and knew it to be sincere. He trusted the elf.

It felt like he was awake moments before his eyes could catch up with him. A pale Nord body is splayed lazily across his bed, Furs of brown and white curled around his covered limbs. He yawns, as expected, Vilkas now feeling his lungs reach their filling point while his arms stretch and relax. His ceiling looked the same... it was dark in here, Vilkas thinks, yet it feels so warm and light. Cozy, even. White eyes scanned the far wall, craning his ache-less neck. There was a scattering of potion bottles and scrolls of paper at his bedside, on a cluttered nightstand and dim candle.

This was something he hasn't felt in a long time. Unawareness, a glimpse of tranquility. Being half awake by peaceful sleep, and not by some wicked curse.

Someone had been here, he thinks. And just like that his rested mind kicked back into gear, memories flooding back to him of caves and deathly halls, brotherly hugs and discovered love. He surprised himself, Vilkas smiling and closing his eyes again, remembering his purity. No more jerking awake and lunging for prey, no more unblinking nights until the sun returned. No more waking with a fierce need to mate only to rub himself raw just to fit into his armor.

But then he remembered the mer that had promised to be there when he woke. Vilkas couldn't stop himself from grinning, wondering if he'd have the nerve to tease him about betrayal-that being said if he could say anything it all. He remembered the nightstand beside him, a faint gust flickering the candle back to life and casting a warm glow on the rolled up papers at his side. Vilkas' knuckles dragged across the wood, he grabbed a scroll and thumbed it open, rolling on his elbow to have a look.

His smile faded with surprise, seeing artfully sketched hands and bodies in charcoal, both rough and delicate. The body was thin, male, and in relaxed poses. Vilkas' heart thumped loudly against his chest when he opened the next scroll, biting his lip to either smile or gasp-or anything. It was a sketch of Vilkas' sleeping face, His hair sprawled messily behind him, his lips parted and his nose turned towards the pillow. So his Harbinger had definitely been here..for a while.

Gods, whether or not he should have felt embarrassed to have been drawn in his sleep like some kind of beautiful woman, It roused the poet within Vilkas. How he wished he could do something like that, express himself to the Harbinger- or in any way impress him. Vilkas lay reclined on his elbows in thought, staring yet his mind thinking of when he touched those warm hands, how even now he lay charmed by the ghost of him that lingered wherever he went.

And so humanly unaware of the approaching footsteps from down the hall. When their eyes suddenly met it feels like no time at all had passed for Vilkas because he couldn't find any to think up something to say. But the Artist was happy to see him roused, and it showed.

"Ah, He's awake... Hello there, sleepy one." His voice sounded so soothing, playful even. As he watched Vilkas raise his tired head. He looked beautifully at peace, his soft black hair disheveled and shirt buttons undone. Inviting himself in, he sees Vilkas smile for him and it's all the reassurance he needed to know that his Nordic companion is feeling well.

"Nnngh...what time is it?" Vilkas sighs as he stretches, feeling open as the Bosmer knelt at his bedside.

"Don't you mean 'what day is it?'"

Vilkas' eyes widened in alarm, suddenly looking at the other man's features. Different clothes, his hair pulled up- he looked very different than he last remembered. His thoughts where cut short to the sight of the mer extending his hand, the artist's fingers running across his jawline.

"You've been asleep for a solid two days." He whispered, as if it was nothing.

"Two days?!" Vilkas reached up and rested his longer hand over the mer's, feeling his own stubble had grown out and rough.

"I watched over you, just to make sure you'd wake. Your brother worried, but I knew you'd be fine." He traced his palm up across his scalp, Vilkas' fingers wrapping around his wrist once more.

"I would have expected no less from you, Harbinger. I see you've kept yourself busy on such a boring duty." His eyes indicated the piles of books and the collection of sketches at his seat. The Bosmer's cheeky smile was heart melting to him, Vilkas turning the elf's hand in his grip to look at his palm, thick and rugged from work. It was the elf's turn to bite back a grin, seeing the Nord trace his palm with his handsomely long fingers.

"There is no price too great that I would spend to be able to express myself the way you do."

It made the bosmer glad to hear that, knowing that Vilkas yearns for the artistic indulgence. He could imagine him a poet- a finish to an otherwise perfectly imperfect man.

"I think you could, given your muse tempts your mind enough." His oval eyes where playful, and Vilkas knew a flirt when he heard one, suddenly finding the courage to grin back at his superior.

"If you only knew what my muse does to me." Gods, Vilkas felt like a fool but he's read enough of romance in glory to know what infatuation can do to a man's soul. If it meant constantly in trembling uncertainty before the elf's very eyes, groping for a next word and evading another gaze, he'd accept that he was in love. It was a sharp pain.

But how could he not be?

They would have loved to kiss again, but the stomping of boots and creaking of door hinges split the two apart once more, Farkas inviting himself into Vilkas' space while the Bosmer simply smiled and vanished from his sight. He made his way upstairs and secretly pined for that moment that the Nord chooses to 'express himself' the way he so wished he could.

Yet something inside him worried. Was he sending this lovestruck Nord down an entirely new, dark path? The Bosmer's wide, vacant smile began to fade the more he started to realize that Vilkas' heart may not be safe in the Dragonborn's hands. Love for the Bosmer came and went like the tides through the mangroves, but when he remembers the taste of his tear-stained cheeks while he kissed Vilkas, he knew there was something entirely new in store for him.

All he could do is let their fates play out, and see if Mara would have them together one day.


End file.
